Nicotine and faded dreams
by STARszx
Summary: Because no matter how much you try to hide it, she'll know. Just like how she tries to hide her concern, but you'll know. Rated M for swearing, smoking, alcohol, possible use of drugs and dark themes.


**AN: Okay firstly, I would like to state that I have nothing against smokers or smoking. It's just that here in the part of the world that I'm from, smoking, drugs, alcohol, etc. are actually quite taboo topics. But the other day, my friend and I were discussing addictions, and she made a very silly statement, coupled with the fact that she has never been through any addictions at all. So I thought that I would venture into this topic by writing a fiction about it.**

**Some mature themes may also be mentioned in the later parts of this story. Smoking, drugs, alcohol, swearing, etc. This fiction will be quite dark, so if you don't do well with dark themes, please don't continue reading.**

**Another thing to note is that some stuff might be a little weird or different. For example, having to get up at 5am in the morning to get ready for school. I'm basing this story on how life is here in Singapore, so some things may be a little different.**

* * *

><p>You open the front door cautiously, taking care not to make any noise as you tiptoe in and shut the door slowly and gently. You check your watch, the light from it illuminating the sofa and coffee table slightly. You swear mentally- it's 4.43am; the risk of you getting caught is higher tonight. But as long as you're silent and you get to bed by 5.10am, you're safe because you know for a fact that Dad only gets up at 5.20am.<p>

You creep up the stairs in the dark, afraid of turning on the light for fear of getting caught, and by some miracle, you make it all the way up to the third floor without tripping over or stubbing your toe.

Once you're in your room, you shut the door and deposit your bag by the corner. Then comes the trickiest part- hanging that silly ornament back onto the doorknob. It was a little glass ornament with a bell hanging on a thin, blue piece of string. The bell was tiny, but lethal- any little movement would make it ring. It was a birthday present from your younger sister, Ella, and although you appreciated the gift, did she really have to get you a bell? Sometimes you swear that she had an ulterior motive behind getting you that present.

You grab the clothes hanging on the back of your chair and step into the bathroom, thanking your stars that you chose the room with the adjoining bathroom. Within a minute, your jeans and sweater are off, and you're back in your pajamas- a plain, white baggy shirt with silky, loose shorts. You splash some water onto your face and grab the mouthwash, hurriedly gargling the horrid, bitter solution and let it trickle out your lips slowly, so as not to make a sound. A quick spray of deodorant, and you're throwing yourself back into bed- mussing your hair up and pulling the sheets up to your chin.

And you're just in time too. About five minutes after you've crawled back into the safety of your covers, you hear a light switch being flicked and someone climbing up the stairs. The door across the hallway is being opened and you hear a sleepy voice going, "Wake up, Ella, it's time for school."

Yes, it's 5 freaking am in the morning and your 14 year old sister is being woken up to get ready for school. Because she was streamed into some special gifted school where everyone solved too many equations to the point where they couldn't even figure out where to write their name on a worksheet. And this school happened to be 45 minutes away from your home, but thank God for school buses that came at 6am in the morning.

"Mmnnrrghh, fiiiive more minutessss," you hear her groan loudly, and you have to bury your head in your pillow in an attempt to suppress your snorts of laughter.

But then you hear the pounding footfalls, and they're coming nearer and nearer, so you rearrange your expression into a blank one and close your eyes, praying that you look like you're sleeping, and have been for the past few hours.

Ding, ding, ding- the stupid bell rings as the door opens. And you can feel him watching you, the feeling of his gaze upon you almost suffocating. You're willing him- no, _urging_ him to go away; desperately trying to send messages with your mind- _go away, go away, WHY WON'T YOU LEAVE ALREADY?_ You make your breaths long and even, trying to fake slumber and trying to calm yourself down at the same time.

Finally, after what seems like eternity, the door closes and the bell dings annoyingly again. You wait for a second or two, decide that he's really left, and open your eye slightly to steal a peek at the door.

He's gone- you sigh in relief and happily bid the anxiety in your gut farewell. You roll over onto your side and close your eyes again. Maybe you can catch at least an hour of sleep before it's your turn to get up and get ready for school.

"Fuck."

That's the first word that comes out of your mouth when you wake up- because you're just that ladylike and polite.

And you're also very late.

You hop out of bed and dash to the bathroom, adrenaline pumping through your veins as you brush your teeth and step back into the same jeans that you left on the floor about two hours ago. You yank off your top, revealing the white tank you wore underneath, and sniffed the fabric. It still smelt of your lemony deodorant, so you didn't bother applying more and pulled on your jacket instead.

You pause for a moment and check your appearance in the mirror. A girl with straight blonde hair with brown streaks and chocolate brown eyes stared back at you. Honestly, you had the potential to be pretty if you took better care of yourself. But you don't give a damn about being _pretty_. Being pretty is for girly girls and those who behaved like damsels in distress, waiting for their Prince Charming to come riding up on his white horse, you tell yourself. You, on the other hand, scoff at the idea of waiting for someone to come save you when you can do it yourself instead.

The innocent-looking chocolate eyes narrow into a glare, and suddenly they're not so innocent anymore. And maybe you're imagining it, but you swear you see them turn a shade darker, resembling dark chocolate more than milk chocolate now. Your upper lip curls itself into a sneer, and your expression changes from curious to hostile. You feel power seeping through your veins as you look at yourself in the mirror, your entire form exuding vibes of danger and violence. The message you're conveying is extremely clear and obvious- stay away from me unless you're looking for trouble.

You leave the bathroom feeling satisfied and confident. All your former anxiety is gone- so what if you're late for the seventeenth time this month? Detention just equals naptime, another late slip just adds to your collection. The school can threaten to expel you all they want, but you honestly can't be bothered anymore. In fact, you'd be happy to be free of that hellhole once and for all.

You step out of the house and inhale the crisp autumn air- a fresh and earthy and wonderful scent. Too bad you were going to ruin it. You smirk, as you pull out a cigarette from the well-concealed box in a tiny pocket of your bagpack. You light it with the lighter you stole from the kitchen and admire the burning end of the tobacco for a moment before lifting the slim tube to your lips to take in a lungful of delicious nicotine. Your lips part ever so slightly to let the smoke trickle out slowly and delicately. You grin as the burning sensation settles in your throat- nothing like a good smoke as you leisurely stroll to school.

Watching the smoke drift and float, twirling in the air in little puffs, you feel free and happy and unrestrained. Because just for a while, you get to forget all about how you're running the risk of being expelled, the feeling of yours dreams being crushed to dust by the disapproving and doubtful looks from your parents, how you're walking on the fine line between life and death because of the way you live now, how you're… how you're… you can't even remember anymore.

Instead, you imagine that there's this carriage in front of you, waiting for you step in and go on the maximum ride of a lifetime.

And you do because, after all, that's what you were named. Maximum Ride.


End file.
